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Praise blindness' eyes, for seeing is deceit,
Be dumb vain tongue, words are but flatt'ring winds,
Break heart and bleed for there is no receipt,
To purge inconstancy from most men's minds.
And so I watched amazed and could not move,
I know my dream was true, and yet I love.

And if thine ears, false Heralds to thy heart,
Convey unto thy head hopes to obtain,
The tell thy hearing thou art deaf by art,
Now love is art that wanted to be plain,

Now none is bald except they see his brains
Affection is not known till one be dead
Reward for love are labors for his pains,
Love's quiver made of gold, his shafts of lead.



hudba a text: John Dowland (1562-1626)

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